


Just say the word

by LittleMissSweetheart



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'who'll cave first' game, 6000 year old dumbasses, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub Undertones, Light BDSM, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Slow(ish) Burn, Teasing, Top Crowley (Good Omens), ignoring their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-07 14:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19211335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissSweetheart/pseuds/LittleMissSweetheart
Summary: The end of the world is coming, and Aziraphale and Crowley are getting increasingly aware that their romantic tactic of 'pretend I don't like them' is running out of time. Crowley is determined to get Aziraphale to admit his feelings, and Aziraphale is determined to uphold his heavenly image.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) I don't usually write fanfics so apologies, I'm trying my best. Also, I'm not going to abandon this, but updating might be erratic because I've got my mocks. This was inspired by the tumblr accounts 'iwouldfuckajcrowley' and 'iwouldfuckaziraphale'. Enjoy :)

The Bentley rocketed down the narrow country roads at 110 m/h, taking the tight and frequent corners on two wheels and about 3 inches from the hedges. Aziraphale was leaning as far back against his seat as he could, one hand gripping the window ledge, the other tapping anxiously on his knee. “Could you please- Oh!”, cried Aziraphale, interrupted in his request by an especially sharp turn and a rabbit who was, thankfully, unharmed. “Could you please drive a little slower?”  
Crowley looked at the angel in mocking amusement. “Angel, we only have 4 days until the end of the world. No, I can’t drive slower.”  
“Fine. But it’s not as if we’re counting in minutes”  
“Yet.”  
Aziraphale scowled half-heartedly at Crowley and then gave up, because it wasn’t really in his nature. Besides, he was much more interested in Crowley’s eyes. The dark glasses they were usually hidden behind had slipped a little too low on his nose, and Crowley either hadn’t noticed or couldn’t be bothered to fix it. Either way, Aziraphale was glad. He had always enjoyed Crowley’s eyes, how bright and interesting they were, how different they were to his own. He felt a wave of decidedly non-platonic affection for Crowley, which he quickly suppressed with a few harsh words to his inner self. He shifted his attention to the road, because someone had to, and clenched his jaw as a bird flew in front of the car. 

They drove like that for a few minutes, silent except for the inescapable Queen music, until Crowley got tired of the continuous pattern Aziraphale seemed to be stuck in:‘Look at Crowley, Look at the road, Grimace, Repeat’. “You alright angel?”, he asked, innocently enough. “You look a little drawn.”. This was not what Crowley wanted to say. In reality, he wanted to say something along the lines of: ‘There there angel, don’t frown, here, let me kiss it better.’, which would, at least in his mind, set off a chain of events which would start with tender kisses and end with them both sweaty and elated in the back-seat. Thankfully, Crowley was saved from the arduous chore of imagining exactly how that might go by Aziraphale’s response.  
“I’m fine, thank you. It’s just your ridiculous driving.”  
“Oh lighten up.”, Crowley quipped, a little too cheerfully for a demon, and the two rejoined their silence, Aziraphale sneaking a look at Crowley’s eyes and then scolding himself in a sort of circuit loop, Crowley working out the details of his daydream and trying to keep a straight face. It was a relief to them both when the convent came into view and they exited the car. To give you an idea of exactly how much of a relief it was, I’ll put it this way. If emotions were a thing that could be touched, like water, then the front seats of the Bentley would be the equivalent of the Parker Dam.

The pair walked across the gravel driveway, looking on the happenings with a mix of confusion and amusement. Men and women were running around left right and centre, shooting each other and hiding behind various nets and wooden crates that were dotted around the car park. As they surveyed the scene, two well-aimed paintballs struck each of their chests, sending them both to the ground in an ungainly, giraffe-on-roller-skates kind of way. Crowley groaned, and pressed his palm to his chest, then glared at it in confusion when the stain turned out to be blue. He checked Aziraphale’s ‘wound’, and saw with simultaneous amusement and embarrassment that it was bleeding green. He got to his feet and brushed the dust off of himself, and helped Aziraphale up too, smiling a little at how soft the angel’s hands were. Then he waved his hands a little and the blue stain lifted from his shirt. Aziraphale groaned softly.  
“What is it, angel?”  
Aziraphale groaned a little louder. “My jacket is ruined. Look at it, all stained...”. He trailed off, murmuring sadly to himself. Crowley cocked his head. “Why don’t you just miracle it away?”  
“Well, I’d always know it was there.”, Aziraphale pouted, looking at Crowley with eyes reminiscent of a small dog trying very hard to look cute so it gets what it wants. Crowley sighed, and removed it away himself, his face heating him up when Aziraphale broke into a wide, genuine beam. As enjoyable as Crowley found the prospect of seeing Aziraphale in certain compromising situations, he loved moments like this even more. Moments when Aziraphale looked so pure, so soft and sweet, and all the things he missed about heaven could be summed up in one look at him. They walked together towards the building, and a tiny, hairline crack appeared in the dam. Small enough to go unnoticed, but a crack none the less. 

They meandered through the halls, peering over desks and riffling through cupboards, dodging the frantic, camouflage clad office workers that sprinted occasionally past them. They found nothing that pointed in any way to a collection of birth records kept by satanic nuns, not even an informal note saying something like ‘The files are in the third floor filing cabinet, sorry, I moved them.’. It was most irritating. 

“It seems a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it? All those humans, running around playing wars. If they wanted to shoot each other Go-, Sa-, someone knows they have the option.”, Crowley mused, leaning against the window and watching the generally pathetic military tactics of a group of people who only really went outside on Sunday afternoons, and even then it was only to let the dog have a good runaround. Aziraphale made a small noise of agreement. “I suppose it does. But I wouldn’t have thought you would think that. Weren’t guns one of your lot’s idea?”  
“No. I thought they were you.”  
“Goodness no. I mean, they add weight to a moral argument, yes, but on the whole they’re generally thought of as a terrible idea.”  
Crowley scoffed in a good hearted sort of way. “‘Weight to a moral argument.’ Say what you like about our side, at least we’re honest about our opinions.”  
“Oh, hush. You don’t perchance to have a handy backup plan for if we don’t find anything here?”  
“I do, actually, but it involves the end of the world and then almost immediately being discorporated, so I think I’ll keep looking.”, replied Crowley, turning away from the window and making a little gesture with his hands, such as a conductor would make to his orchestra.  
“What was that?”  
“Hmm?”  
“What was that, what did you do?”  
“Oh nothing. I just spiced up their game a little, gave them what they wanted.” said Crowley airily, grinning at Aziraphale’s scandalised gasp.  
“You gave them real guns? Oh Crowley, they’re murdering each other?” exclaimed Aziraphale, horrified.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, and internally scowled when he realised that Aziraphale couldn’t see it. “No they aren’t. No-one’s killing anyone. They’re all having miraculous escapes. It wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”  
“Oh.”, Aziraphale beamed, “You know Crowley, I’ve always said that deep down you really are quite a nice-”.  
Crowley grabbed him by the front of his coat and forced him backwards until he was wedged between the wall and Crowley. The demon’s body was pressed against Aziraphale, so close the tips of their noses were touching. Tingling warmth shot down his spine and established itself in the pit of his stomach, which he tried his best to ignore. “Shut it!”, the demon hissed, “I’m a demon. I’m not nice. I’m never nice. Nice is a four letter word. I will not.. have...”. Crowley trailed off, his aggression waning as he was taken aback by the powerful aura of desire radiating from Aziraphale. The angel did look a little ‘hot and bothered’, but Crowley had put that down to his being slammed against a wall. A red flush was creeping up from around Aziraphale’s collar, and spreading itself across his cheeks like a picnic blanket, one that Crowley found himself very much wanting to sit on. As he was thinking this, Aziraphale wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue, and the feelings of desire he was unconsciously transmitting increased. Crowley’s fought to keep his (entirely optional) breathing steady as he realised just how undone Aziraphale was getting, just from being pinned to a wall. Just from being pinned to a wall by him. “Are you quite alright Crowley?”, Aziraphale asked, trying not to let his voice betray the definitely un-angelic thoughts running through his head. Aziraphale, at that moment, was imagining Crowley utterly dominating him, owning every inch of him, covering him in livid red love-bites and pulling his hair, a wild beautiful mess of loud moans and dishevelled kisses, which made it quite hard to speak coherently. Just hearing Aziraphale struggle to maintain composure filled Crowley with such wicked satisfaction, and he frantically closed the gap between them, kissing Aziraphale hard, gripping his coat ever tighter. Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up and his blush increased it’s surface area, but he kissed Crowley as vigorously as Crowley was kissing him, his eyes fluttering shut as the kiss gained momentum. 

It was a dark, angry kiss, full of built up tension and desperate relief. As far a Crowley was concerned, this was what both of them had wanted for a very long time. As far a Aziraphale was concerned, it was a spontaneous moment of temptation that he was all too willing to give in to. Aziraphale’s hands moved from his sides into Crowley’s beautifully red hair, and he felt Crowley release his coat and move his hands to the base of his back, pulling the two as close together as possible. Crowley’s hips were rubbing against Aziraphale’s own, and the friction was almost too much to bear. Aziraphale kissed even harder, and Crowley responded by nibbling Aziraphale’s lower lip, earning a whimper that Crowley loved above all else. He desperately wanted to see what other noises Aziraphale made, and how to get him to make them. He wanted to see Aziraphale flushed and utterly undone, sprawled beneath him all covered in love bites and aching for more. He wanted all of him, and by Go-, by Sa-, by someone he would have him.

Keeping one hand in the small of Aziraphale's back, he moved the other in between them and slid it slowly downwards, making sure that Aziraphale could feel his fingertips through his absurd amount of clothing. Once he reached the top of Aziraphale's trousers he had intended to wiggle his fingers under the waistband and continue his trailing journey downwards, but Aziraphale broke the kiss and abandoned Crowley’s hair to push his hands away. Crowley was disappointed by this for a number of reasons, one being that having his hair distractedly petted while kissing the living daylights out of the person who was petting it was rather a nice sensation, and another being that he had been looking forward to ‘kicking things up a notch’, as it were. Crowley went to kiss Aziraphale again, but the angel ducked out of the way and extracted himself from the demon’s arms, straightening his waistcoat and fixing his tie, his face pinker that ever. “Well, um. I suppose we should, keep looking for the anti-christ? Then?”, he said, walking to stand in the middle of the corridor. Aziraphale’s stomach felt like it was full of liquid fire, and he could feel the place where Crowley had touched his back still tingling, but he refused to acknowledge it. 

Crowley’s face darkened. His pupils narrowed and his jaw tightened. He’s just going to walk away? After that, he’s just walking away like nothing happened. You aren’t fooling me Angel, I know how much you enjoyed that. I know how much you wanted me to continue. But fine, walk away. It’s not like I’m loosing anything. “Wonderful idea.” he snarled, and stalked away down the corridor, his hips reminiscent of a tiger’s shoulder blades. Aziraphale stood alone in the hallway looking crestfallen, his arms hugged around his stomach. He watched Crowley walk away sadly, and turned in the other direction, thinking it probably best not to follow him. Oh, I wish I hadn’t upset him. I didn’t mean to upset him, I just didn’t want things to move so fast. He always goes so fast, with everything, and I-oh dear. I should have known better than to engage with a demon. It would have always led to trouble, if it wasn’t this it would have been something else. I just need to focus on the child. Come on Aziraphale, focus. You’re on the clock. Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back and walked on, peering into doorways and trying to ignore the gunfire outside. There had to be something here to help him find the child. 

Meanwhile, Crowley was walking the corridors on the other side of the building and was gradually becoming more and more furious. He kicked open doors and walked on without looking inside, he knocked over a vase, and kicked a wall when he ran out of doors, all the time thinking about Aziraphale. ‘He always does this, always acts like he’s such a good angel, too perfect and saintly to even look at me. The bastard. I’ve known him for 6000 fucking years and in all that time I’ve never seen him act like ‘proper’ angel. But as soon as I show the slightest bit of interest in him, suddenly he’s all high and mighty. I kissed him because he wanted it, I could feel him wanting it. And look what he’s done now! Him! Tempting me! All these emotions are his fault, not mine. He did this, and dammit I am going to win whatever game he thinks he’s playing.’. As Crowley’s train of thought progressed, his face descended into a scowl and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. It would have been a most terrifying picture indeed, had his cheekbones not been tinged with pink as he imagined just how beautiful Aziraphale could be. 

Tied up, pink with elation and begging Crowley to take him, squirming and whimpering under Crowley’s agonisingly soft touch, aching for Crowley to let him climax, admitting his feelings, his desires. The two of them together, climbing higher and higher, reaching a beautiful peak together, after a lifetime of teasing, and coming down in each others arms. Crowley was jerked out of his very enjoyable daydream by the sound of running behind him. He turned to see Aziraphale, out of breath and leaning on his knees. Crowley leaned against the wall and waited for Aziraphale to recover, raising an eyebrow in a condescending arch. “I found a woman. She used to work here. We should-” Aziraphale straightened up. “We should probably talk to her. Unless you’ve found anything?”  
“I haven’t. Where is she?”  
Aziraphale jerked his head in the direction he had come from, and the two walked in silence down the corridor. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who was staring resolutely ahead. “My dear, you do think we should-”  
“No.”, interrupted Crowley, and stalked forwards, away from the angel.  
“-talk about it. Do you think we should talk about it.”, murmured Aziraphale. He gave a pained sigh, and wrung his hands. I don’t care; we aren’t friends. We’re on opposite sides, we just help each other out sometimes, nothing more. I have no reason to be disappointed. No reason at all. He buried his hands in his spacious coat pockets and hurried to catch up with Crowley, determinedly ignoring the tingling in the pit of his stomach.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less smut and more fluff, sorry :) It will get smutty again soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe people actually liked this,oh my goodness! thanks for being nice and commenting <3

Despite Aziraphale having found the woman, Crowley reached her first. She was sitting in the hallway on a chair designed to make potential employees slightly intimidated and massively uncomfortable during interviews. When Crowley approached her, she stood up and smoothed her skirt professionally in an effort to look more like a woman who knows what she’s talking about. This effort was entirely wasted, as she had barely left the chair before Crowley snapped his fingers and she went into a sort of trance. Aziraphale caught up and huffed disapprovingly. “There was no need to do that. We could have just asked her.”.  
“Oh yes, I’m sure that would have gone well. ‘Excuse me madam, we need a bit of assistance, you wouldn’t happen to know the location of the notorious son of Satan?’”  
Aziraphale shifted abashedly. “Yes all right. Go on, get on with it.”  
Crowley rounded on the woman again. “Did you used to work here 11 years ago?”  
“Yes.” the woman replied dreamily, smiling a sleepy, world-of-her-own smile.   
“Right, good start.”  
“Just to be clear,” interjected Aziraphale, “As a nun. Did you used to work here 11 years ago, as a nun?”  
“Yes.”  
“Okay then. Sorry, carry on.”  
“Do you remember me giving you the adversary, destroyer of kings, angel of-”  
“-of the bottomless pit, prince of this world and lord of darkness. Yes.”  
Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other. The awkwardness and anger was evaporating in the face of this potentially very easy cover up plan.   
“And what did you do with him?”  
“I gave him to the American ambassador.”  
Aziraphale and Crowley groaned. It seemed they were doomed.   
“Ooh, hang on.” said Aziraphale, perking up slightly. “What about records?”  
Crowley let out an almost unnoticeable sigh of relief, and any residual bitterness he held shrivelled up and died under the warmth of Aziraphale’s sparkling, hopeful eyes. “Yes, yes! Records, did you have any records?”  
“Oh yes, we had loads of records. We were very good at records.” murmured Sister Mary.   
Aziraphale clasped his hands in enthusiasm. “Where are the records now? Where did you put them?”  
“Burned. In the fire.”  
“Oh, Hastor!”, Crowley growled, and buried his head in his hands.   
Aziraphale sagged, but persisted. “Do you remember anything about the baby? Anything at all?”  
Sister Mary considered the question. “Yes.” she replied eventually. “He had lovely little toesie-wosies.”  
Aziraphale’s face broke into a wide, sunny smile and Crowley, who had just uncovered his face, almost melted. He walked away as hurriedly as he could while still looking nonchalant and unruffled, leaving Aziraphale with Sister Mary.   
“When you wake up, you will have had a lovely dream about whatever you like best, and-”  
“Come on angel!”, shouted Crowley from down the hall, and Aziraphale snapped his fingers and trotted after the demon, leaving Sister Mary awake and smiling dazedly in the hallway.   
He caught up with him at the main entrance, and the pair walked across the gravel together, weaving through the crowd of office workers and police officers, both equally confused. Crowley returned the paintball guns to their original function, which didn’t help at all. 

They had apparently reached some unspoken agreement that everything was fine, and should probably stay unspoken, which neither of them really wanted but both were willing to settle for. That being said, as they walked across the increasingly crowded car park, Aziraphale was very aware of Crowley’s presence beside him, walking in step, close enough to touch. He mentally shook himself and gave himself a thorough reprimanding, but he couldn’t get the kiss out of his mind. It had felt so right, so meant to be. Every touch had left him seeing stars, and Crowley’s forked tongue had felt, well… Aziraphale’s face heated up, much to the amusement of Crowley, who also couldn’t get the kiss out of his head. The way Aziraphale had looked backed against the wall, giving in to his desires, flushed and beautiful. The little noises he made, how he ran his hands through Crowley’s hair, perfect. They climbed into the Bentley, and drove away, the engine vibrations doing nothing to help either of them. 

The Bentley speed down the road, narrowly missing several pedestrians, a tree and another car. Aziraphale would have clamped his eyes shut, but he felt that if he didn’t watch the road then no-body would, and some poor human would definitely end up dis- dead. “I think I’ll put some music on.”, said Aziraphale conversationally, and fumbled with the stack of tapes in the glove compartment. “Ooh, what’s a ‘Velvet Underground’?”, he asked, turning a dark purple tape over in his perfectly manicured hands. Crowley shook his head. “You wouldn’t like it.”  
“Oh.” said Aziraphale knowingly. “Be-bop.”  
Crowley choked on his laugh. “Be-bop?”, he grinned. “Do you know, Aziraphale, that if probably a million human beings were asked to describe modern music, they wouldn’t use the term ‘be-bop’.”  
Aziraphale shrugged, and selected a different tape. “Ah, this is more like it. Tchaikovsky.”. He slid the tape into the stereo and sat back, tapping his fingers in time to music that wasn’t even playing yet. Crowley sighed resignedly. “Yeah, ‘Tchaikovsky’. I don’t think you’ll like this either, it’s been in the car for over a fortnight.”. Tchaikovsky’s ‘Killer Queen’ serenaded them down the M25, which Crowley couldn’t help feeling a little responsible for, and Aziraphale looked out of the window and hummed along to ‘Waltz of the flowers’ in his head. 

After a while it occurred to Crowley that they should probably discuss the anti-christ and his whereabouts, and so turned off the music and looked at Aziraphale more anxiously than he had intended to. “Angel, what do we do. We have lost. The anti-christ.”. His jaw locked tighter and tighter as he continued. “The actual anti-christ. We had one fucking job angel, and we lost the fucking child and the world is fucking ending and we are so fucking fucked!”.  
Aziraphale took a deep breath and stared out of the windscreen. “Yes, my dear. I rather think we are. But surely,”, he added, turning to face the now quite flustered demon, “Surely there has to be a way to fix it. I mean, he didn’t just disappear. He’s somewhere. We just don’t know where. Can we not, I don’t know, sense him? Use miracles? Anything?”  
“I’m afraid not. He’s got a sort of shield, we can’t find him unless he wants us to.”  
“Right. Well then,- pull over dear, you’re going so fast I fear we might take off- then what do we do?”.   
Crowley pulled into a lay-by, parked, and slumped against the steering-wheel. He groaned. Aziraphale was preparing something comforting and helpful to say when the radio turned itself on and played unfamiliar bridge chords from an unfamiliar song, which was interrupted by a hoarse voice that sounded cold, foreboding, and merciless, like the tide rushing towards you while you’re trapped on the rocks. It was a truly hellish voice. “Crowley.”, it said. “Is everything going well?”  
“Oh, absolutely. Yep, world ending, boy accounted for, all very evil, everything’s fine. Fine fine fine.”  
“Very well. You know the consequences if you fail.”  
The voice disappeared and the unfamiliar song continued. ‘-they’ll never see my smiling face, in your embrace, when you’re-”.  
Crowley stopped leaning on the steering wheel and slumped back in his seat, his hair flat and his eyes shut.   
“You know,”, ventured Aziraphale, “I do have a, a network of operatives in London. Perhaps I could ask them to have a look around for the child.”  
“Actually, so do I. I suppose it could work.”  
“Wonderful. Should they work together, do you think?”  
Crowley opened his eyes and sat up a little straighter. “No, I don’t think so. My lot aren’t very sophisticated.”  
“No.” murmured Aziraphale. “Nor are mine.”.  
Crowley started the car and set off towards London, leaving the radio on. He was just happy to happy to listen to anything that wasn’t Queen.   
“-think we’re winning this game, but we’ve never given it a name, so I just called it friend or foe.”.

It was starting to rain, and despite this Aziraphale practically begged for them to stop in a little cafe on the side of the road, maintaining that pancakes were “just the thing for a crisis.”. Crowley couldn’t help but get a little hot under the collar as he imagined how Aziraphale would sound begging for other things. They sat at a shiny wooden table on a squashy bench sofa in the corner and tried to ignore the fact that their legs were touching. In reality, either one of them could have moved so they weren’t, but neither really wanted it to stop. When the waitress came, a tired looking woman in her mid-thirties, Aziraphale ordered pancakes, undeterred by the fact that it was 2:45 in the afternoon, and Crowley ordered black coffee, to which Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Really Crowley, no sugar or anything?”  
“Nope, it tastes better black.” he insisted.   
When their orders came, Aziraphale pretended not to notice Crowley furtively pouring in one of the sugar packets from the table, and smiled fondly until Crowley looked round.   
“My dear, you must try some of my pancakes. They’re amazing.”  
Crowley tried to say no, but Aziraphale’s eyes were round and imploring, so he allowed himself to be fed a forkful of pancake, which, he had to admit, was actually quite good. The radio was on in here too, but playing a different song. It was quite pleasant, and Crowley found the lyrics quite relatable, ‘-please let the devil in. A meter apart, we blankly stare, we shout in our heads ‘Are you still in there?’. Well, this ends bad then, we knew it would, so we won’t eat our words, cause they don’t taste good.”. Crowley sat listening for a while, waiting for Aziraphale to finish his pancakes. The song made him feel, not sad, exactly, but heavy. It was nice to have Aziraphale next to him, their legs resting against each other, all awkwardness gone. He supposed that there was no time for awkwardness when you only have a few days left. 

Aziraphale had cut up his pancakes at the start of the ‘meal’ and so only needed one hand, which meant that the other hand was lying between him and Crowley on the seat. Crowley felt the urge to hold it. Before he could, though, Aziraphale put down his fork and moved both hands into his lap. They sat together, taking in each other’s existence, a soft, quiet moment amidst the hopeless chaos of that afternoon and all the days to come Crowley looked around the room, everywhere but Aziraphale, and noticed a phone on the counter. “Aziraphale, I’m gonna call my ‘network’.”  
“Righto.” smiled Aziraphale.  
Crowley shuffled awkwardly along the bench until he was out from behind the table and sauntered towards the counter. The girl behind the counter couldn’t have been more than 18, and her acne covered face flushed a bright, blotchy pink as Crowley leant his elbows on the counter. “Do you mind if my friend and I use the phone?”. He jerked his head backwards towards where Aziraphale was sitting, who gave a little wave when he saw the girl looking. “Um, uh, yeah, of course, yeah.”, the girl stuttered, and gestured lamely towards the blocky white landline. Crowley nodded in thanks, and dialled the number. It rang for a minute, and then was answered by a man with an accent of indeterminate origin. “Aye?”  
“Sergeant Shadwell, this is Crowley.”  
“Oh, master Crowley, what a pleasure. I was gonne chase y’ up about the annual sponsorship funds…”, he trailed off hopefully.   
“Yes, £250, that’s fine. Listen, I have a job for you.”  
“Aye?”  
“There’s a boy. He’s 11 years old, presumably in the London to Tadfield area, I need you to find him.”  
“An’ he’s a witch?”  
“Almost certainly.”  
“Ah, righto then, I’ll put my best men on it master Crowley, right away. Sergeant, um, paper, and Lieutenant, uh, uh, flask-”  
“Goodbye Sergeant.”. Crowley put the phone back onto the receiver and beckoned Aziraphale over, making polite conversation with the girl behind the counter while he waited to Aziraphale. The girl was getting increasingly more flustered, and as Aziraphale approached his eyes darkened with jealousy that he told himself he wasn’t feeling. 

He reached the phone and smiled at Crowley, pleased when Crowley smiled back. He started dialling, and Crowley walked away to sit back at their table. Sergeant Shadwell picked up the phone a lot quicker this time around.  
“Aye?”  
“Hello Sergeant, it’s me.”, said Aziraphale conspiratorially.   
“Who?”  
“You know! Your sponsor.”  
“Oh, right. Y’ don’t happen t’ have y’ annual sponsorship fees, do y’?”  
“Well let me see, if you stop by the book shop tomorrow I should be able to give it to you then. In the meantime, I have a job for you.”  
“Oh, aye?”  
“Yes. I need you to put your best men onto it immediately.”  
“Aye, will do. What’s the job?”  
“Well, there’s an eleven year old boy, and it’s absolutely vital that I find out where he is.”  
“Would he, by any chance, be in London or Tadfield?”  
“Oh. Yes, he would, how did you know?”  
“I’ve got my sources. I’ll get on it sir.”  
“Wonderful. Pip pip!”. Aziraphale hung up the phone and went back to Crowley. He drank the dregs of his coffee, and they went back to the counter together. Crowley paid for the food, despite Aziraphale’s protests, and got back into the car. The rain had stopped, and both were in better moods; Aziraphale had been right, even the presence of pancakes had helped. Crowley drove at his usual breakneck speed, and Aziraphale fixed his usual grimace into place. “Do you need me to drop you at the bookshop, angel?”  
Aziraphale considered. “Thank you, that would be helpful. You know, we did my tradition for overwhelming existential stress. Do you have anything?”  
Crowley laughed. “My main solution is alcohol.”  
“I have alcohol.”  
“Yes, I suppose you do.”  
The pair drove on, reaching Aziraphale’s shop in almost no time. “Can I interest you in a drink, Crowley?”  
“Most certainly angel.”  
They walked into the bookshop and settled into the comfortable chairs, Aziraphale pouring them both glasses. “To Armageddon?”, he offered.  
Crowley accepted his glass, deliberately brushing Aziraphale’s hand as he did, and raised it. “To Armageddon.”


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise that this one is so short, I tried to stretch it out but it didn't really work :) The next one will be longer

It had been at least 4 hours since Aziraphale and Crowley had stared drinking, and you could really tell. Crowley was sprawled across one of Aziraphale’s armchairs, both his legs draped over the arm and his arm hanging over the back. His glasses had fallen off some time ago and were discarded on the floor. Aziraphale was leaning forward in his chair, his head propped up by his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. “The point is…”,Crowley slurred. “The point is, dolphins.”  
“Kind of fish.”, supplied Aziraphale helpfully, trying hard to get Crowley into focus.  
“No, nono, mammal. Dolphins’re mammals. Cause they, they-”. Crowley furrowed his brow.  
“Mate out of water?”. Aziraphale was having trouble identifying which, of the sea dwellers, dolphins actually were.  
“Maybe. I dunno. We should- we should talk of other things angel.”  
“Like shoes.”, tittered Aziraphale.  
“Or ships.”, grinned Crowley, all too willing to join in.  
“Or sealing wax.”  
“or cabbages.”  
“Or kings!”  
“Or why the sea is boiling hot”  
“And whether pigs have wings”, giggled Aziraphale, and he laughed so much that he slid gently off his chair and ended up sitting on the floor. He adjusted himself so he was leaning against the chair and his legs were in a comfortable v-shape. He put his head on one side and looked up at Crowley, who was still laughing and trying to remember the rest of the poem. “You have pretty eyes.”, he murmured  
“Hmmm?”  
“I love your eyes. Very pretty eyes, much too pretty.”  
Aziraphale’s face was pink, and once again his aura of desire rolled over Crowley like a tidal wave. Crowley jerked upright and looked at his friend. “Re-really?”  
“Mhm.”, Aziraphale nodded earnestly. “Could look at them f’rever.”  
Aziraphale’s aura of desire increased, and Crowley couldn’t understand how he was still functional. In a movement like a snake, he was on the floor and moving towards Aziraphale. Even on his hands and knees, he still managed to saunter; his hips moved like he was missing a tail. He reached Aziraphale and kneeled between his legs, looking deep into Aziraphale’s eyes. They sat like this for a while, each waiting for the other, anticipation building between them, wave upon wave of desire crashing over both of them. Finally, after an achingly long wait, Crowley leant forward hungrily and kissed Aziraphale, who sunk into it immediately. 

Aziraphale ran his hands through Crowley’s hair, which was fast becoming one of Crowley’s favourite things, and Crowley nibbled Aziraphale’s bottom lip. They kissed franticly and intensely, bodies pressed against each other on the floor of the dimly lit bookshop. Crowley’s kisses left Aziraphale’s mouth and trailed along his jaw to his ear. Crowley sucked a little on Aziraphale’s earlobe, and the angel bit back a moan. Then he kissed down to his neck, sucking and biting to create beautiful red marks on the angel’s pale flesh. Aziraphale couldn’t hold back and moaned loudly, and Crowley redoubled his efforts, kissing and sucking harder, spurred on by the beautiful noises his angel could make just for him. Aziraphale tilted his head backwards, stretching the skin on his neck, and moaned again, and this time Crowley thought he heard a whisper of his name behind it. His hands left Aziraphale’s waist. One snaked up to the middle of his back, holding the angel firmly, and the other pushed Aziraphale’s chair backwards, entirely out of the way. Using both hands now, Crowley lowered Aziraphale carefully to the floor, kissing his neck all the while. Once Aziraphale was fully laid down, Crowley put his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s shoulders and adjusted himself so he was straddling him. The new pressure on Aziraphale’s hips was tantalising, Crowley keeping his hips just a centimetre too high, robbing Aziraphale of just the right friction, and it was killing him. Crowley’s kisses hit lower and lower on Aziraphale’s neck, until they couldn’t go any lower because his shirt was in the way. Crowley could have dealt with that problem very easily, but he felt like the removal of clothing was a big step and he didn’t want to do anything to upset his angel. 

Instead he shifted his weight onto his legs and slid backwards, his hands trailing down Aziraphale’s, still fully clothed, chest. Once he reached his lap, he raised himself and looked at Aziraphale, who looked back with wide and surprisingly lust filled eyes. “Angel?”, Crowley breathed.  
Aziraphale’s breath hitched. Everything in him was telling him this was wrong, this was sinful, he shouldn’t be doing this. But a tiny voice at the back of his mind told him to imagine what could happen next, how it could feel, and it was a compelling argument. He nodded, a tiny, almost unnoticeable nod. “Please?”, he whined, barely more than a whisper. That was all the encouragement Crowley needed. He unzipped Aziraphale’s trousers and pulled them, along with his underwear, down to his knees, taking care not to be too rough. He was pleased to find Aziraphale’s cock hard and ready for him. He ran his hands up Aziraphale’s sensitive thighs, and Aziraphale shivered deliciously. Crowley’s hands stayed on Aziraphale’s hips as his forked tongue darted across the tip, pulling a whimper from between the angel’s lips. 

Keeping his eyes locked with Aziraphale’s for as long as possible, Crowley kissed his way slowly down to Aziraphale’s base, and then suddenly licked back up in one long stroke. Aziraphale gasped at the change, and moaned again when Crowley took his head in his mouth. Crowley swirled his tongue around the head, sucking and licking but never going down further. When he was done he pulled his mouth away with a pop, and looked at Aziraphale with hungry eyes, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock. “Do you like that angel?”, he asked, his voice husky. Aziraphale could only whine and nod against the floor. He wasn’t touched like this often, the last time had been in 1886, and Crowley felt better than anything he’d ever felt. Aziraphale inhaled a shuddering gasp as Crowley dipped his head and took half of him in his mouth, the hand at his base twisting and squeezing as Crowley’s head bobbed up and down, licking the sensitive spot under the head then darting across the tender slit with his tongue, before ducking and taking him again, up to the middle. Crowley’s other hand left Aziraphale’s hip and traced a path to his inner thigh, drawing patterns up and down the sensitive skin with achingly tender movements, entirely out of time with Crowley’s mouth. This sensory conflict was almost too much for Aziraphale and he moaned loudly and without restraint, bucking his hips. Crowley was un-phased by the sudden movement and rubbed comforting circles on Aziraphale’s thigh with his thumb. “Oh,”, Crowley murmured around Aziraphale’s cock, “is this too difficult angel? Do you want me to stop?”. Crowley’s voice was mocking and smug, and the vibrations it made around Aziraphale’s cock were exquisite. Aziraphale couldn’t even answer, he just shook his head and whined, eyelids fluttering. 

Crowley smiled a little in satisfaction and continued sucking, alternating between gentle tender tongue strokes and sucking hard and fast at random. ‘Surely now’ thought Crowley, ‘surely now he’ll admit it. This is the start of everything, he’ll finally admit his wants, his feelings. Look at how messy you are for me angel,’ he thought before finally taking all of Aziraphale’s length into his mouth. The arousal in the pit of his stomach burned brighter, almost unbearable, but he wanted to keep his hands on Aziraphale, to keep stimulating him until he couldn’t take any more. ‘How undone you are, my angel, just for me. I’m yours for the rest of time.’. Crowley’s possessive train of thought had been accompanied by moans and whines from Aziraphale, which were increasing in frequency as Crowley abandoned his previously gentle technique and deep-throated Aziraphale, taking all of him then sliding back up, pausing for a moment before sliding back down even harder than before. He did this over and over, swirling his tongue around the head before dipping again, and the soft caverns of his mouth felt so good against Aziraphale’s cock. The angel tensed beneath him. “Oh! Oh Crowley I’m- I’m- ah!”, he gasped. Crowley moved his head out of the way at the last minute, and Aziraphale came in long, curving strokes, his body arched and shuddering. Crowley smirked, proud of he could do this to his angel. 

Afterwards, Aziraphale slumped back onto the floor, and Crowley crawled around to lay next to him, laying his head on his shoulder. Aziraphale put if arm over Crowley, and they layed together. They fell asleep like that, lying on the floor, wrapped in each other, flushed and happy. When Crowley woke up the next day, though, he was alone. A soft tartan blanket had been tucked around him and a mug of coffee was sitting in front of him. He looked around for Aziraphale, and found him sitting at his desk, a mug of steaming cocoa by as he scanned several old books for something important. Aziraphale felt him looking and turned, smiling at him. “So, my dear. I’ve been looking through a few books of prophecy, and I think-”  
Crowley’s jaw clenched and his eyebrows lowered. “No. Not again.”  
“I’m sorry?”  
Crowley stood up and dusted himself off. “No. You got out of this once, but this time we are talking about this. You cannot tell me it meant nothing.”  
Aziraphale blushed a faint pink and stood up too. “I was drunk, Crowley, we both were. Things happen when people are drunk, there’s nothing else to it.”  
“But you could have stopped being drunk any time you liked,”, Crowley hissed, “and you and I both know how much you enjoyed last night.”  
“I did no such thing!”  
Something in Crowley’s heart broke, and his eyes darkened. “Fine! Don’t admit it, see if I care! Have a nice fucking apocalypse!”. Crowley stormed out of the shop, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled in their frames. Aziraphale sunk into his chair, utterly miserable, trying not to care as he heard the Bentley roar away.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one is going to take a while, I've got at least one exam every day this week haha

Aziraphale sat dejectedly at his his desk for a long time, staring desolately into his cocoa that was fast turning cold. He wanted to get over himself, he wanted to tell Crowley what he was feeling, but nothing could ever come of it. It would just be cruel, to get his hopes up and then have to smash them all over again. No, thought Aziraphale, they were better off as colleagues, friends, nothing more. Not to mention the trouble they would both get into if anyone ever found out. Heaven would throw a fit if they found out he had so much as taken a walk with Crowley, let alone what happened last night. And Hell, well.. Aziraphale dreaded to think what they would do to Crowley if they found out. It was much safer to stay friends, better for them both. Aziraphale crumpled onto his desk and leant his face into his hands. It was better for them both. But it wasn’t good. He took a deep breath and stood up from his chair, and took his cocoa to the sink. He poured it away and washed up the mug, feeling very out of place in his own shop. 

The normally homely bookshelves felt cramped, too close together, the normally golden lamplight looked harsh and dead. The normally inviting armchairs looked hard and uncomfortable, and Aziraphale couldn’t look at them without thinking of the previous night. He covered them over with blankets, which didn’t help. Sitting back down at his desk, he stared blankly at the books of prophecy before giving up and flipping them all shut. What was the point? Crowley was mad at him, for good reason, and he couldn’t save the world without him, so what was he meant to do? He couldn’t look for Crowley, he had no idea where he had gone, and no means of transport. In all his years on earth, Aziraphale had never felt so utterly alone. Of course he and Crowley had fought before, but they had always had years to sort it out, to get past it. Now they only had days. And even when they had fought before, Aziraphale had known that Crowley would always be there. If he was in trouble, Crowley would put down his argument and help him, and Aziraphale always would do the same. Now, though, he wasn’t sure. For the first time on earth, he felt entirely alone. 

Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. ‘Candles.’, he thought. ‘That’s what I need. Lovely smelling candles to cheer me up.’. He pulled open a draw in his desk and took out a box filled with candles of varying size, colour, and smell. Just choosing where to put them was strangely soothing, making sure they too close to anything flammable, making sure they were spread evenly around the room. Once he had done, he stood in the centre of the room and clicked his fingers. Every candle lit at once, and the air slowly filled with the smell of lavender, vanilla, and lemongrass. Aziraphale breathed in deeply and leaned against a pillar. The candles smelled lovely, and Aziraphale was starting to feel more relaxed. 

He allowed himself a small smile and took another deep breath, but a loud knocking at the door broke him out of his trance. “We’re closed, I’m afraid. Come back another time”, he shouted, knowing full well that he’d still be ‘closed’ then too.  
“Mr Aziraphale? It’s Sergeant Shadwell.”  
“Oh!”. Aziraphale hurried to open the door for Sergeant Shadwell, who shuffled in and looked at the room in confusion. “What’re y’ doing?”  
“Just enjoying some scented candles. What can I do for you my good man?”  
“Scented candles…” muttered Sergeant Shadwell disbelievingly. “Just came to pick up the sponsorship funds, if y’ happen t’ have them?”  
“Oh, of course! Give me a minute Sergeant, I’ll be right back.”  
Aziraphale trotted to the back room, leaving Sergeant Shadwell alone. He shook his head. “Scented candles. Great southern pansy.”  
Aziraphale returned with the money, which Sergeant Shadwell all but snatched from him. “Is that everything you needed?”, asked Aziraphale, anxious for the Sergeant to leave. If people outside saw him in the shop, they might get the idea that the shop was open, and Aziraphale didn’t really feel up to glaring at them until they left. “Aye, ‘tis. Although, I have got a book I’m trying to get rid of, if y’ interested?”  
“Have you?”. Aziraphale was suddenly more keen for him to stay. “What’s the title?”  
“The Nice and Accurate Prophesies of Agnes Nutter.”  
Aziraphale gave a little gasp  
“Aye, I found it in the back o’ my wardrobe, so if y’ want it I could give it to y’ for an extra, say hundred pounds?”

Sergeant Shadwell was not being entirely truthful about how he got the book. The real story was that Witchfinder Private Pulsifer, still disorientated from crashing his car, had scooped up his jacket from Anathema’s table not realising the book was under it, and had carried the book that way from Anathema’s house, onto the bus, and back to Sergeant Shadwell’s house, where he had tried to put his jacket on. The book had fallen to the floor as if from no-where, and after a short discussion during which no-one thought to read the slightly smaller print on the cover, the witchfinder army had decided that if it wasn’t about witches it didn’t matter if it dropped from no-where and elected to get rid of it. A turn of events that proved very fortunate for Aziraphale, who was currently handing Sergeant Shadwell the hundred pounds and shepherding him forcefully out the door, the book sitting securely on his desk.

Once Shadwell was gone, Aziraphale dithered frantically back and forth before deciding on a plan of action. He would take the book, try and find Crowley, apologise, and save the world. The last point was a little ambitious, but Aziraphale was filled with a sudden rush of relief that he felt he could do anything, which was why he was trying to find Crowley. He took his coat of off the rack, slid the book carefully into the massively spacious inside pocket, and pulled it on. As he did, though, the end of the coat flicked round and knocked a candle off of it’s table. It rolled across the floor, flame still lit, and as Aziraphale left the shop it came to a stop under a bookshelf that quickly caught fire. Aziraphale walked away down the street, oblivious to the fire spreading through his bookshop, engulfing everything. He was just focused on finding Crowley.

Crowley’s experience had been somewhat different. After he stormed out he got in the Bentley and slammed his foot down, weaving around pedestrians and other cars, not relenting until he got to his flat. He burst in, almost ripping the door off it’s hinges, and slammed it behind him just as viciously. His plants heard this and trembled, trying to look as green and tall as they could. Crowley didn’t even look at them. He collapsed into his unnecessarily ornate desk chair and laid his face on the desk. “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuCKFUCK!”. He was in absolute turmoil. On the one hand, he was mad. He was furious, and insulted, and offended, and just so fucking angry. Aziraphale kept stringing him along like this, like he didn’t have feelings, like he could just be put on hold whenever Aziraphale wanted. And the lying, the flat out, blatant lying! If Aziraphale needed some time to process what had happened, to process his feelings, Crowley would be more than understanding. But he just kept lying to him, telling him he didn’t enjoy it, acting like nothing happened, like everything’s fucking fine. Crowley took a deep breath, and continued weighing up his emotions. On the other hand, he was miserable, and really, really guilty. He had yelled at his angel, and sworn at him, and abandoned him, and the tiny glimpse he got of Aziraphale’s face as he was leaving had been heart wrenching. They belonged together, they both new that. Whether romantically, platonically, even antagonistically, they completed each other. And Crowley had fucking walked out. He had really fucked up, and he knew it. Suddenly, his flat felt empty and dead, the normally calming openness making him feel exposed and vulnerable, like the world could see him and all his mistakes. He had to move. 

In a sudden burst of tense, restless energy, he got up from his chair and paced everywhere, walking every inch of his flat, trying to drive off the cold truth that was staring back at him from every polished wall. He walked until he couldn’t any more, and sat on the edge of his desk, staring at his phone. He knew he had to call him, he had to apologise, he wanted to apologise, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had punched in the number, it was ready to go, but he couldn’t bear to press dial. He didn’t want to hear the betrayal in Aziraphale’s voice, and he didn’t want to hear what he knew Aziraphale would say: that they were better off as friends. But he couldn’t just leave his angel like that, and if he wasn’t going to ring then he would have to just go down and see him, apologise face to face. While the courage was still flowing through him, he stormed out just as dramatically as he came in, and as the door shut his plants finally relaxed. 

Crowley jumped into the Bentley and drove to the bookshop, faster than he had left it, his courage building with every passing second. He shot past buildings, and would surely have killed someone had all pedestrians not been miraculously returned to the pavement as he drove by. He rounded the corner, and slammed on the brake as he stared, wide eyed, at the shop. Thick black smoke plumed out of the windows, flames licked up the walls, glass lay shattered on the pavement, the wooden door-frame was twisted and mangled. Crowley leaped out of the car and practically ran to the door and flung it open, all common sense gone in the face of loosing Aziraphale. Ignoring the protests and questions of various firemen he rushed in, immediately inhaling a lungful of smoke and choking, stumbling against a fiery, crumbling pillar. Inside the shop, the chaos was even more horrifying. Fire engulfed every bookshelf, burning every book in the shop to a charred lump. The flames danced up the walls and pillars, cracking the plaster on the ceiling and bringing chunks of it down. Crowley stumbled through the flames, distraught. “Aziraphale! Aziraphale, where are you!”. He spun around, desperate to catch a glimpse of white behind the red and black, desperate to hear a snatch of his voice. “Aziraphale, please! Please, you always survive! You always survive..”  
He sank to his knees amongst the flames, eyes pricking with tears. His angel was gone, he was gone, and the last words he ever said to him were shouted and cruel. He was alone, with nothing left at all. Every trace of his angel was gone. He got to his feet, tears streaming down his face now, and walked out of the shop. His face was covered in soot and streaked with tears, and his eyes burned more intensely than the shop behind him. Once again ignoring the firemen, he strode to the Bentley and drove to a pub. He didn’t know what it was called, or if he had been there before, or if it was even open, but it didn’t matter because Aziraphale was gone and he needed to drink until he forgot. He half sauntered, half stumbled to the door and pushed, discovering that it was open. He was down heavily at a table, glaring at anyone who looked at him, daring them to laugh. He ordered a bottle of brandy from a stuttering waiter, and slumped in his seat. Everything was terrible. Everything was absolutely terrible. 

While Crowley was drinking himself into a depressed stupor, Aziraphale was frantically trotting around London looking for him. He got the bus to his flat, where he wasn’t, so he caught another bus to St James’ park, which he walked around for a while getting more and more panicked. He tried the bandstand, the number 19 bus, everywhere he could think of. But he still couldn’t find him, and he didn’t know where else to try. Had he upset him that much? Had he just left, bailed on this doomed planet and left Aziraphale behind? He sagged in defeat. He really was alone now. No hope for reconciliation when only one of you is on the planet. He turned and walked back to his shop, through the crowds of people that were, for some reason, also heading in that direction. He was jostled left and right, down a different street than he intended. Dusting himself off, he turned around and saw the Bentley parked a few feet away. His heart leaped, and he felt a swell of relief rush through his body. Suddenly self conscious, he straightened his waistcoat and walked up to the door of the pub, his heart pumping at what felt like twice it’s normal speed. He walked in, looking around, and his eyes fell on Crowley, slumped with his face in his hands at a table cluttered with bottles. 

As Aziraphale stood in the doorway, taken aback by the scene, Crowley looked up and his mouth dropped open. “Angel!”  
Aziraphale hurried across the room to him. “Crowley? What happened?”  
“Oh my god, angel, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”  
Aziraphale winced a little at the language but otherwise ignored it, shocked at how emotional Crowley was. “What happened?”  
“The fire, the bookshop burned and I couldn’t find you, I thought you were gone..”  
Aziraphale sat down heavily in the chair opposite Crowley and tears pricked in his eyes. “The shop burned?”  
“Mhm”  
He closed his eyes. The shop was burned, he had no-where to go, and Crowley had drunk himself half to discorperation over the idea that they would never see each other again. He wanted to just say how he felt, to admit his feelings, but it felt cruel, to say something they both wanted and then never let it go anywhere. He realised tears were running down his cheeks, and he opened his eyes to see Crowley crying too. “I really am sorry angel. I’m so, so, so, sorry. I didn’t mean it, any of it, I was just- just-”. He ran a hand over his face. “I was just-”  
“I know.”, whispered Aziraphale. “I’m sorry too.”. His hand found Crowley’s on the tabletop, and they held onto each other for dear life, holding tightly lest they loose each other again. Not talking, not thinking, just holding on. 

Eventually, Crowley broke the silence. “So, what’re you going to do?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Without the bookshop?”  
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I don’t actually have anywhere to go.”  
“Oh, well- I mean- I mean, only if you wanted to, but- well-”  
“Crowley?”  
“I have room at mine, if you wanted.”. He looked down, embarrassed.  
“Crowley. Thank you.”, smiled Aziraphale. “That would be lovely.”  
Both of them blushed a little, and their grip on each other’s hands relaxed. They sat a little longer, taking each other in, and begrudgingly let go of each other’s hands. Crowley left some money on the table and they pair walked out, wrapped in a bubble of softness. They walked in tender, comfortable silence to the Bentley, and got in. Crowley drove slower than usual, took more care to be careful, and Aziraphale sat comfortably and smiled. They reached Crowley’s flat, though, in around the same amount of time as would be usual. 

When they arrived, they walked awkwardly up the stairs together, and when Crowley opened the door Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and bit back a laugh. Crowley noticed this and shifted uncomfortably. “What?”  
“No, nothing, it just- reminds me a bit of heaven. What with all the white, and minimalism, and windows. Not really what I expected.”  
“Oh.”  
“Oh, I didn’t mean it to be bad!”, corrected Aziraphale hastily. “I just meant that it was a bit of a shock, it’s not a bad thing, not at all.”  
“Okay, it’s fine. You can have my bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”  
“No, I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that. You’ve been kind enough letting me stay here, I insist that you sleep in the bed and I take the sofa.”.  
Crowley was going to argue, but saw a glint of what can only be described as armoured kindness in Aziraphale’s eye and decided to give in gracefully. “Okay, I’ll get you a pillow and blankets. I’m guessing you usually have dinner?”  
Aziraphale nodded. “I do, but obviously I don’t have to. Don’t feel you have to go out of your way.”  
“It’s fine. I’ve actually always wanted to try using the oven.”, Crowley laughed.  
“Oh, in that case, you have got to let me help! I have the best recipe book back at the- oh”. Aziraphale’s enthusiastic line of thinking fell short as he remembered the fire.  
“Well, they probably aren’t as fancy as your ones, but I have a few cook books here, if you wanted something from them.” said Crowley, as he pulled 2 blankets and a pillow from a cupboard. He tossed them onto the sofa and waited for Aziraphale’s answer. “That sounds wonderful Crowley. Thank you.”, smiled Aziraphale.

They went into the clearly non-utilised kitchen and got out the equipment. They laughed, rolled dough, splattered each other with flour, fired up the massively underused oven and, with a little ‘miraculous’ help, managed to speed up the process on making croissants to 25 minutes. They sat on the counter, talking, Aziraphale eating, smiling and enjoying each other’s company. Once Aziraphale had finished ‘the best croissant he had ever eaten’, they went over to Crowley’s open plan equivalent to a living room and sat on the sofa together. They continued talking about anything and everything, no matter how small, just to talk to each other, ignoring the swiftly darkening sky. “Oh!”, exclaimed Crowley, breaking the thread of their conversation about the ridiculous fashions that humans had passed through. “I completely forgot pyjamas. You don’t have any pyjamas.”. He waved his hands and a neatly folded parcel fell onto Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale blushed and unfolded them. They were blue and soft, with little penguins dotted all over them in various winter activities. Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. “Oh, they’re adorable!”.  
Crowley smiled back. “I’ll go away so you can get changed, shout me when you’re done.”. He walked into his bedroom and sat on the end of his bed. While he was waiting, he realised that he didn’t mind any more if Aziraphale was never ready. It didn’t matter if all they ever did was sit and talk, because there was no-one he would rather sit and talk with. Of course, he wouldn’t object to it going further, but he didn’t need it to. He really, truly cared about Aziraphale, and he wouldn’t want to spend the apocalypse with anyone else. 

Aziraphale was coming to a realisation too, as he changed into the pyjamas that Crowley had given him. He realised that the world was ending, there was no time for safety. They were in danger, they had been for years and years, and Aziraphale allowing himself to be happy wasn’t going to change that in the slightest. He realised how much he cared about Crowley, how fully he cared about Crowley, and how much he wanted to show it. “Crowley, I’m done.”, he shouted, and when Crowley came back they smiled at each other, both finally at peace with their feelings. “Can you sit with me for a while?”, asked Aziraphale, and he shuffled around and rearranged a blanket so they could both sit tucked in it. Crowley sat down and they leant against each other’s shoulders, wrapped in a warm blanket and so entirely happy. Despite the fire, and the apocalypse, and their higher powers, they were happy.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is here, haha :) sorry the gap was so long, but I had a bunch of exams and i was tired

As they sat, wrapped in the blanket leaning against each other, Aziraphale was working up his courage. He counted to three in his head, took a deep breath and turned to look at Crowley, his heart pounding and his skin tingling. “Crowley?”  
“Yes angel?”. Crowley’s voice was warm and, and Aziraphale felt a little more confident.  
“I think-”. He took another deep breath and bit back a nervous chuckle. “I think I’m ready.”  
Crowley frantically shuffled round to look at Aziraphale, his cheeks pink and his pupils expanded. “Are you sure angel? Because I don’t want you to think you have to say that, and I’m sorry for what I said at the book shop, and I just-”. Crowley stumbled through his speechlessness, trying to find the right thing to say. Aziraphale softly took his hands and looked him in the eyes. “My dear, I’m ready. I want to do this.”

Crowley nodded and stood up, gently tugging Aziraphale up with him. Aziraphale let Crowley lead him to his bedroom, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. He was on the tipping point of the apocalypse, in someone else’s house, in clothes that weren’t his, and he wasn’t sure of anything but Crowley’s hand in his and his tingling skin. They reached Crowley’s room and went in, shutting the door behind them. The room wasn’t much different to the rest of the flat. It was white, and minimal, though with a more normal amount of windows. The bed massive with a metal frame, covered in a crumpled black duvet and scattered with black pillows. It looked soft and ridiculously comfortable, which certainly explained how much time Crowley spent sleeping. They sat down on the edge, both inexplicably nervous. It wasn’t the first time for either of them, but it felt like it, and they were both still holding onto each other’s hand, but less like a lifeline and more like an anchor. They floated together.

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, endearingly awkward. “You, um, you might have to start. I don’t this often.”  
“You’re in charge, angel. Anything you want we can do, and I’ll be as gentle as you want.”  
Aziraphale looked at Crowley with a bashful smile and love in his eyes.  
“Thank you dear. But, don’t think you ‘have’ to be gentle.”  
“Oh!” smirked Crowley. “Just how ‘non-gentle’ do you want me to be, angel?”.  
Aziraphale smiled and looked down. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s rough, exactly, but I wouldn’t be adverse to- maybe- being tied up, a little?”  
“Okay, yeah, we can do that.” Crowley was a little surprised, but he knew that Aziraphale can’t have found it easy to go against his heavenly teachings and admit that he wanted to do this, and he wanted to make sure he was comfortable and relaxed every step of the way. “Of course we can do that.”  
“Thank you. But if you aren’t comfortable with it we don’t have to do it, I want to to enjoy this just as much as I will.”.  
Crowley faltered, a little starstruck. He wasn’t used to people making sure he was okay.  
“Angel, I am more than comfortable with this. I just want to look after you.”  
His hand snaked around and came to rest on Aziraphale’s waist. 

They looked at each other, both love struck, anticipation in both their eyes, until Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed his lips against Crowley’s, who melted into it immediately. They kissed passionately, their arms wrapping around each other and their eyes shut. Crowley’s hand slid around to rest in the small of Aziraphale’s back, and he settled his other hand between the angel’s shoulder-blades. Their kiss because more intense, and Crowley lowered Aziraphale gently backward, just like in the bookshop. “Hands.” murmured Crowley against Aziraphale’s lips, lightly brushing his wrists with his fingertips, and Aziraphale lifted them above his head and crossed them without thinking twice. It felt so natural, there was no guilt or inner conflict this time around, no angelic scolding from deep in his brain. This time there was just joy, and anticipation, and the comfort of knowing that Crowley was both in control and looking after him. He rested his crossed wrists on one of the bars of the headboard and felt a scarf appear, binding them in place. It was soft and silky, cool against his flushed skin. Crowley sucked on his neck, raising new hickeys where the ones from the bookshop were fading. He trailed his kisses along his collar bones and shoulders, relishing the little moans Aziraphale was making. His kisses reached the top of Aziraphale’s pyjama shirt, and Crowley looked at the angel for confirmation and he nodded, a little frantically. As Crowley miracled both their shirts off, Aziraphale’s eyes roved over Crowley’s now exposed chest. He wasn’t as rounded as Aziraphale, but he wasn’t muscular either; he was lean and skinny, and his nipples were hard with arousal.

Crowley was also staring at Aziraphale. The angel was round and pinkish, with a squishy stomach that Crowley loved so much. He leaned down and resumed his trail of kisses, making his way down to one of Aziraphale’s nipples. He kissed and nibbled the sensitive flesh, and Aziraphale’s whines only turned him on more. He ran his forked tongue in a swift circle around it, delighted by Aziraphale’s shiver, and ran his thumb over the other one, flicking it gently and raking over it lightly with his nails. Aziraphale gasped. Crowley abandoned his licking and continued trailing his kisses downward, kissing and nibbling Aziraphale’s stomach in a winding path. When he reached the waistline of Aziraphale’s pyjama’s, he looked up again, asking permission. Aziraphale whined frantically. “Mmmn, please hurry my dear.”.  
Crowley smiled, and eased the fuzzy blue trousers down, achingly gentle, watching Aziraphale writhe against the scarf as his fingers brushed Aziraphale’s thigh. Once the trousers were all the way off, he tossed them aside and let them slide to the floor. They wouldn’t be needed. Aziraphale’s cock was hard and throbbing, and when Crowley pressed a tiny kiss to the tip Aziraphale whined with denied pleasure. Crowley then kissed his way up the inside of Aziraphale’s thighs, holding his squirming hips still. From his hips, Crowley’s hands slid upwards, grazing Aziraphale’s waist with his nails. Aziraphale’s breath hitched and he bucked his hips desperately. “God, you look so beautiful like this angel.” murmured Crowley, and in one swift movement he took all of Aziraphale’s length into his mouth and started sucking hard. One hand was still grazing up and down the side of his waist, and the other was caressing his testicles. The rush of sensations was euphoric for Aziraphale, who threw his head back and moaned without restraint.  
Crowley bobbed up and down on Aziraphale’s cock, sucking and licking until Aziraphale, flushed with bliss, moaned louder and louder. “Crowley, I’m close, I’m so close, oh fuck I’m so close, oh-”, he babbled, pleasure rushing through him. Crowley’s already hard cock twitched under his leather trousers, Aziraphale’s moans sending spikes of pleasure through him. Smirking wickedly, he took his mouth off Aziraphale, leaving him seconds away from orgasm. Aziraphale tugged against the scarf, desperate to finish, and Crowley’s brow creased in concern. He crawled hurriedly around to Aziraphale’s head. “Are you okay, angel? Do you need me to untie your hands?”.  
Aziraphale shook his head and whined a little.  
Leaning down, Crowley pressed little kisses along Aziraphale’s cheekbone and nibbled on his earlobe. “What do you want me to next?”, he murmured. “It’s up to you.”  
“Fuck me, Crowley, please, I need to feel you inside me.”, whispered Aziraphale, looking up at Crowley with desperate, lust filled eyes. 

Crowley’s breath hitched, and he nodded. He kissed another trail back down Aziraphale’s body, and flicked a finger to remove his own trousers. They were both completely naked and achingly hard, desperate for each other. Crowley ran his hands up the back of Aziraphale’s thighs, resting his hands on the seam between his arse and his back. Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley’s waist and lifted his arse up slightly, shuddering in anticipation as the tip of Crowley’s cock brushed his perineum. Crowley’s cock, now ‘miraculously’ lubed up, pressed against the entrance to Aziraphale’s hole. Gently, taking care not to hurt him, Crowley pushed forward, pleasure overcoming him as he felt how tight Aziraphale was around his cock. He pulled out a little, then pushed back in, a little further than before. Aziraphale’s breath was ragged, and he tightened his legs around Crowley’s waist, pulling him deeper. Both moaned in abandon, pleasure crashing over them. Crowley started to speed up, his thrusts getting heavier as Aziraphale’s moans got louder, his hands still supporting Aziraphale’s arse. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut, but Crowley’s stayed open, looking over Aziraphale’s flushed beauty, how he bit his bottom lip and leant his head back against his outstretched arms, how he gasped and bucked his hips whenever Crowley hit that specific spot inside him. Every noise he made pushed Crowley further to the edge, and every thrust brought Aziraphale closer too. 

They had built up momentum now, their hips crashing together with each thrust, moans streaming freely from both of them as they came closer and closer to climax. Aziraphale came first, a desperately loud moan punctuating the long, thick waves that curved up between him and Crowley. The sight of Aziraphale reaching such heights pushed Crowley over the edge, and he pulled out and angled his hips sideways, his come soaking the sheets. They both collapsed together, chests heaving and legs shaking, lost for words. Crowley crawled next to Aziraphale and untied the scarf, then layed down with his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Oh my.”, murmured the angel. “That was- Oh my.”  
Crowley nodded, a little dazedly. “You were amazing angel.”  
“Thank you, dear. And I had imagined you would be good, but oh my. You were just wonderful.”  
Crowley nuzzled his head into Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale put his arm over Crowley’s shoulder and they fell asleep, to the sound of each other’s breathing, sweaty and elated in Crowley’s bed, any notion of pyjamas entirely forgotten.

This time, when Crowley woke up, Aziraphale was still next to him, his eyes still shut and his breathing calm and gentle. Crowley lay still, wrapped in Aziraphale’s arms, and sighed contentedly. He didn’t even care that the apocalypse was approaching, that the life he had built over 6000 years could come to an end, because he had Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had him, and together they could figure this out. While he was thinking this, Aziraphale shifted and opened his eyes. He looked at Crowley with loving eyes, and then coloured a little when he realised they were both naked. Crowley dropped a new pair of pyjamas onto his lap. These ones were green, and had pandas playing video-games dotted across them. Aziraphale beamed and put them on. “Thank you, my dear. Can I ask, though, why you seem to have a fondness for animal pyjamas?”  
Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought they were..”, he trailed off, looking for the right word.  
“Nice?”, supplied Aziraphale, smiling a little mischievously. They both thought back to the kiss at the old hospital, and smiled a little more.  
“Yeah.”, sighed Crowley. “I thought they were nice.”. He grinned. “Do you want breakfast angel?”  
“You know, I think I do.”.  
“Well then, good sir, let me escort you to the kitchen.” smiled Crowley in an exaggerated manor house accent. Aziraphale beamed, and the pair got out of bed and left the room, Aziraphale in fluffy pyjamas and Crowley in black silk boxers. 

Aziraphale made pancakes, which Crowley discovered was surprisingly easy, and they sat on the counter again, knees touching, hands entwined. They laughed together about anything and everything, about their bosses, the apocalypse, the hash job they had made so far in stopping it, Aziraphale’s magic, Crowley’s look during the 70’s, and everything in-between. “You know, Crowley, even if you don’t want to admit it, you are, at heart, just a little bit, a good person.”  
Crowley smiled in spite of himself. Demons weren’t supposed to be nice, they were meant to be cold and unforgivable. Although, Crowley reasoned, he had probably missed that exit when he gave Aziraphale pyjamas. And it did feel good, that he was nice. Sort of warm, and glowy.  
“And even if you don’t want to admit it, I know that, deep down, you’re just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.”, countered Crowley, smiling even wider at Aziraphale’s lovestruck beam. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Crowley raised his coffee. “To the world?”, he offered.  
Aziraphale raised his pancake laden fork and looked adoringly at Crowley.  
“To the world.”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) sorry about the sex scene, i don't really know how to write mildly kinky gay sex. hope it wasnt too bad


End file.
